Unified Heartbeat
by Jae.O.Rae
Summary: The team is challenged by a terrorist with non-negotiable demands. So how will the team save one of their own from an endless torture based on the fulfillment of these demands? R & R! Now Updated!
1. Prologue: A Torturous Process

**Authors Note:** Okay, so this is my first EVER post of a fan fiction on a show that I've recently got hooked to, Flashpoint. Honestly, I'm not sure what to expect, although feedback would be greatly appreciated. I have to warn though! This idea was a spur of the moment and this is all I've written so far. In other words, I'm not sure the frequency of the chapters, even though I do plan to stick with it, and it may take me awhile to plot out where this is all going in detail. Even though this is quiet a short prologue, I would enjoy your thoughts, correction, and just overall review. Much thanks.

**Update:** Alright, so quick update on a couple things I realized I should inform readers about. I decided this was going to get a bit graphic in the torture department, but nothing to extreme! Process of torture will be written in detail. So, it will be containing violence of blood and other injuries; however, I think that the rating is still fitting at 'T'. I just feel the need to give heads up that torture themes are included in this story and may not be for the lighthearted. ALSO, I forgot to bring a timeline of when this is all taking place so I decided season 3 post "Follow the Leader". This story won't contain any spoilers, but a brief, if ever so light, mention in the dialogue about "Follow the Leader". So slight you probably won't pick up on it unless you've already seen the episode!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters

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><p><strong>Prologue:<strong> **A Torturous Process**

All the hours began to blend together in a fast blur for the members of the SRU team. Tensions were higher than ever and every second was as painful as the next.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Parker. I don't believe we are on the same understanding. I am going to continue to torture your colleague until my demands are met. So the longer you drag your feet—will only cost your buddy more time to suffer. And don't you damn play games with me. I know how the system works, which is why I will be relentless with my tactics. You and your SRU team can continue to watch the video feed to decide whether or not I'm a man of my word," the harsh and unsettling voice cut off from the other line of the receiver.

Greg slammed his hands down on the table causing multiple things to clatter to the ground. Every day he dealt with hostage situations, none feeling any easier than the last, but the ones that involved his team, his family, were the hardest ones. Of course he wasn't the only member of this team who feels this way because they all are a unit of strong individuals who support each other like a blood-line family would.

He glanced over at Eddie, the stronghold of the team, who now visibly showed tension in his face, but refused to give up hope.

And Spike, who lost one friend and refused to lose another, now had fingers flying over the keyboard searching for any clues to the whereabouts of his comrade.

Wordy, the support you knew would always be there when you needed someone as a colleague or friend.

Then there was Jules. The biggest, toughest heart in the team that always remains pumping through the worst of conditions stopping at nothing to protect every member. Even so, this heart fluttered in ache at the thought of her partner in jeopardy.

Greg cleared his voice, "Come on SRU lets bring him back safe." Then there was him. The speaker. The motivator. The one who could talk and guide his way through these situations that challenged them all.

"We're bringing Sam home."


	2. Unexpected Twist

**Author's Note:** Alright, so quick update on a couple things I realized I should inform readers about. I decided this was going to get a bit graphic in the torture department, but nothing too extreme! Detailed process of torture will be written. So, it will be containing violence with blood and other injuries; however, I think that the rating is still fitting at 'T', if you think otherwise, please tell me! I just wanted to give heads up that torture themes are included in this story and may not be for the lighthearted. ALSO, I forgot to bring a timeline of when this is all taking place so I decided Season 3 right after "Follow the Leader". This story doesn't contain any huge spoilers to episode "Follow the Leader" a slither or two hints and you probably will only spot them if you've already watched the episode. So I hope you enjoy chapter one!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Unexpected Twist<strong>

Sam enters the gym ready for his much needed work out.

Finally, the day started in the gym to workout with some weights and cardio exercises. This week really had no time for any of the usual daily exercise routines with the amount of hot calls pouring in. Though they loved helping people, the team could agree that the gym is the best part of the day, because not only was this the down time where they could communicate, bond, and sweat out any unnecessary emotions on the job, but it also meant that currently more citizens were carrying on with their day out of harm's way. Course it always could change in a blink of an eye.

But for now, Sam was feeling pretty relaxed, if not tired. For him, this week had been one with stress overload with multiple tough situations. Plus, that damn paramedic, Steve, was slithering jealousy into Sam's mind. He knew it didn't concern him and his closer-than-friends relationship ended with Jules – for the most part. Occasionally, they would find their eyes connecting with the old flame that once settled between them, but both decided they could not let those feelings get in the way of the job. So, just as soon as the flame had ignited – it sizzled out in cold water.

Still, he tried not to let it affect his companionship with her on the team and always connected to Jules with his genuine smile which she returned. He greets Wordy with a nod as he walks by, heading straight for the weights where Eddie was now getting in some arm reps.

"Mornin' Sam," Ed spoke, but kept the rhythm of his work out, only briefly making a quick glance over at Sam.

"Hey Ed," Sam replied, but equally focused on starting his work out as he adjusts the weights to his preference.

"How are ya feeling today?" Ed presses on with the small talk, which slightly hints that he is doing a check up on Sam's mood today, to dig for anything that would affect his work.

"Nothing a good and long awaited workout can't fix. Just been a busy week, huh?" He sank down to the bench with his muscles and mind ready to get pumping. However, his work was not feeling all that generous.

The loud over head alarm goes off and shortly after echoes Winnie's voice, "Team One, hot call. On Harrow Street at Lancaster Transport Center. Man armed with explosives with multiple hostages."

Sam's disbelieving eyes briefly catches Eddie's eyes as he stares back. He always spoke way too soon. Both men then proceed to jump up and jog into the locker room getting geared up with the rest of the team. Minus Jules, who strides into the ladies' locker room.

All come out prepared quickly and gather in a cluster making haste down to their vehicles.

"Two bomb scares in one week? This is just exploding with excitement," Eddie sarcastically remarks as he hops into the driver's seat of the black Chevrolet Suburban.

"Yeah and let's just hope this one has no casualties as well," Wordy following suit by entering the passenger seat.

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><p>The team arrives in front of a building that's surrounded by other awaiting officers standing guard.<p>

One officer approaches the team, obviously the on leading the case, and begins to brief them on the information gathered. "Young, white male has a bomb strapped to his chest in the fourth level lobby. He has his arm secured around a woman's neck and three more known hostages sitting in front of the lobby's desk. We haven't made contact yet, so his objective is uncertain. We have four posts surrounding all exits of the building. So far, it looks to be only one subject," the officer lays down all the information for the current situation and Greg acknowledges him with a nod before walking away with his group.

"Spike, I need you to get some eyes inside. We need to know the full layout of what's going on in there," Spike rotates around and promptly enters the command truck. "Jules, go talk to some of the on-scene witnesses and find out any information you can on the events leading up to now and see if there's any possible ID on the subject," Jules proceeds by heading towards the shaken few who are already talking to some police officers.

"Eddie, Sam, Wordy, I need you guys to observe the layout of the building and find possible solutions if this goes south." All three group in a huddle around the blueprint of the building and begin to discuss their options.

Seeing everyone at work, Greg jumps into the command truck with Spike, pleased to see that the man never loses his touch and already has got a visual inside. He leans over Spike's shoulder to get a good view. This just looks like a young guy, no more than 20 years of age, Greg guesses. "Hey Winnie, I need you to see if you can ID this guy from the video feed," Greg speaks through the headset and receives a confirming reply.

"Hey boss, I don't see any more hostages than the four in there. Police said they've evacuated the lower levels," Spike informs Greg. "However, I'm looking at the bomb and from what I can gather, although I can't be 100% certain, it looks to be remote detonated, but I don't see any trigger in his hand. Still that doesn't mean he can't have it elsewhere." Greg gives a firm pat on Spike's shoulder.

"All witnesses say the same thing. Guy walks out from the elevator and heads straight up to the counter then snaps. He grabs the woman on his left and starts to yell that nobody is to move and he's got a bomb. No one could ID the guy either. Employee personal said they've never seen the guy before and don't believe he works there," Jules sums up all she has gathered to everyone on the headset.

Greg swipes a hand over his chin, "So we have no clear idea what this guy's motive is. Let's see if we can establish contact without alarming him. Spike, do you know if the bomb could be set off by any phone device?" Greg didn't want his phone call to be the source of detonating the bomb. "It's highly unlikely, Boss. I mean, cellular detonated explosives are really uncontrollable and I doubt he'd want this thing to go off unintentionally. Plus, again, given the look of the bomb, it doesn't seem to be that type of build." That was enough to answer Greg's question.

Greg swings the door open and gets out from the truck with megaphone at hand. Eddie, Sam, and Wordy no sooner approach Greg to share their assessment.

"So we've got the subject in the fourth floor. There's another building adjacent from it that's level to that floor. So from the roof we are pretty much parallel visual," Wordy spoke first.

"Yeah boss, it doesn't really make a whole ton of sense. I mean, all sides are covered with glass windows making the subject easily out in the open with not much cover," Sam voices his side with a hint of growing confusion.

"The guy up there must not be thinking straight, making him even more of a threat if we can't calm him down. I'm going to see if I can make contact, but Sam I need you in sierra position just in case." Sam nods and jogs over to grab gear and head over to the building across.

Greg continues to walk to the best possible location where he would be easily heard from four stories high. Not a moment too soon, Winnie's voice breaks in, "I've got I.D on the subject. His name is Ryan Conner, he's nineteen working as a delivery guy. He has no criminal records." The guy is young and has the motive of being irrational, not thinking straight, but nothing is ruled certain. "Thanks, Winnie."

"This is Sergeant Gregory Parker with the Strategic Response Unit. I'm going to call the lobby phone and I need you to pick up and respond. I just want to make sure everyone is alright," he puts the megaphone by his side and begins to walk back towards the command truck.

"Subject still has hostage and is still deemed lethal, until otherwise. Sam, you got the solution yet?" Eddie checks in making sure all is set up in case communication doesn't boat to well with the subject.

"Sierra in position, I've got the solution," Sam responds with all focus through the lens of the situation.

Greg now stands next to Spike giving him the okay to make contact. "Alright, attempting to make contact." The phone rings a good five times before the phone picks up.

From Sam's vantage point, he has full visual of the guy directing one of the women sitting by the counter to answer the phone and bring it over to him. The guy reaches one shaky hand out to grip the receiver.

"This is Greg Parker. How are things in there," Greg remains to speak calmly and cautiously not to approach strongly, not knowing what to expect. Especially, since he wasn't able to accumulate any proper motives for the subject yet.

"T-things are alright," he could hear the choked back sob on the other end. Greg now begin to question what has this kid going on up there. Maybe his girlfriend worked there and they had a fight? Stressful situation just broke him and went overboard? All the different scenarios race around in Greg's mind.

"You're Ryan, right? You don't sound alright. Is there any way you could tell me why you're doing what you're doing right now?" Greg knew he jumps in a bit fast, but somehow he knows it still isn't over stepping the boundaries.

He hears the soft sobs of the younger man before a reply came, "I d-didn't want to do this. You've got to help me. They told m-me to come in here and just grab someone – a-anyone. They said they would set it the bomb off if I didn't! Oh god, please! P-please help me!" The subject was breaking down and fast.

Greg is taken aback. The "subject" sounds like another hostage involved in this engagement.

Suddenly, Sam's voice brakes in rather tight and rapid, "No solution, no solution." However, Ed quickly intervenes by snapping over Sam to halt any further action, "Hold, Sam, he doesn't seem to have the intention of harming anyone. Sierra position stand down. Stand down and wait."

Jules walks up to Greg, "Sarge, this situation feels –"

"Hinky. Yeah I know," Greg has his hand over the speaker as he turns to look at Jules. Then returns back to the phone as the boy begins to cry again into the phone, "T-they said all I- all I had to d-do was wait t-till they got what they wanted. That's all! They t-told me if I didn't… that t-they would push the trigger to s-set it off."

"Don't worry, Ryan. We'll get you out of there safely, but we need you to remain calm. Do you have any idea who these people are and what they wanted to get?" Greg knows its a long shot, but doesn't hesitate to ask.

"N-no, I have no idea who they are, they covered my head," Ryan speaks a bit more calmly now than from a few moments ago, which proves a good sign.

Greg rubs a hand over his jaw before briskly wiping it away. "Team, pull back. This whole thing was set up as a distraction. He's not the one with the trigger, but someone else around might be around watching.

"Got it, boss," replied Ed than Jules and Wordy.

Greg slightly tilts his head waiting for the last reply, but it never comes. "Sam, you copy?" Once again he lingers in a few silent seconds as the rest of the team assembles around, "Sam, do you—." Greg is abruptly cut off by the unmistakable sound of flesh connecting with flesh followed by a groan and more sounds of struggle. All of the team looks to one another with worried, confused eyes.

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><p><strong>AN:** Hope you all enjoyed the first real chapter! Please leave comments and reviews. Can't wait to hear the responses!


	3. Demands That Torture

**Author's Note:** So, this story for me has just been write as I go and so far I think its flowing nicely. I just want to appreciate all the feedback and reviews I've been getting! Thanks so much it means a lot to me. So, you've asked and you shall receive; the next chapter is up! Now, this is the chapter is a lot of detail, but it's all necessary! I think. Anyways! Next chapter to come will contain violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Demands That Torture<strong>

As soon as they saw the blonde officer run into the other building alone, they knew who their target would be. It was time to make their move before the hostage bomb scare distraction wore off. All three men glanced to one another agreeing that it was time. Then casually, each one dissipated out of the heavily crowded area into different directions, already knowing the set location to meet. All was going according to plan.

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><p>It all happened pretty fast, most people say that, but this came with such a sudden shock that he isn't expecting at all.<p>

As soon as Sam saw the event begin to unfold, it started to flip perspective to make sense, in a confusing sort of way. This young man's face has sheer terror painted all over, and there was just no sign that he intended or intends to end the hostage's life, let alone his. No, this guy shows no trace of willingness to harm anyone. So, unless Sam was reading the subject wrong and this man really wasn't mentally stable, there was no way he had planned on strapping a bomb to his chest to murder any civilians this morning.

Now he's sure of it as more pieces connect with the conversation between the subject and Greg over the headset. Sam knew that he wasn't the only one with the thought and his boss surely was figuring it out too. This is a set up. Someone else nearby is pulling the strings of the operation. But still the motive is unclear without a subject to profile.

Now all they had to do though was find out who was behind all this and soon.

Sam stiffened and clenched his jaw. He always spoke too soon. Because now he could feel the presence of at least one or more on the roof behind him when he knew this area was suppose to be closed off. Call it a sixth sense. However, he remained neutral to pose as unaware to the possible threat behind him. So he does the only thing he could do and attempts to signal the team with words that won't tip the subject off.

"No solution, no solution," is all he manages to get out before a firm hand wraps around his mouth and the hands of others grip tight to restrain his struggles. There were just too many for him alone to handle.

Then it hit him. With a sickly-sweet smell, the distinct feelings of irresistible sleep rushes to his head. Damn, chloroform. As much as he struggles, it was futile to stay awake, and after only a few more fighting seconds his body goes slack.

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><p>"Jules, Wordy, go check sierra position! See if Sam's still up there!" Greg couldn't believe he didn't see it sooner. I mean the set up decoy, sending Sam up there alone, all of it. This hot call is far from not going well. It's disastrous. He has no way to safely get the hostages out without risking the unknown, invisible subject from pressing the trigger. Added to that, he has a member in a condition unknown...<p>

"Sarge, he's not up here! All of the equipment is though and… Sam's vest," he could hear the pain in her voice.

Greg gritted his teeth. He hated when the situation's problem suddenly split into two different ones. Not only did he still have an innocent man with a bomb strapped to his chest with no knowledge to if it's going to explode any second, but now he had a missing man, one of great importance to the team.

God damn, this is so frustrating. No subject to profile, no idea what the motive is, other than to take one of his men, and now, no location.

"Spike, do we have any camera feeds from the streets or in that building to I.D this SOB," Greg snapped, a bit off his game, but Spike understands that isn't directed towards him.

"Lucky for us, we do. We've got a camera located at the front entrance as well as down in the ally by a side door. Guess this place has high security," he typed in some codes and made a few clicks before images from the camera popped up. "Let's hope we caught the sorry SOB." Greg smiles at Spike's use of his label for the subject.

"Spike, go back to when we last heard Sam to get an idea what time frame we need to look for the subject," Spike, of course is already on it and begins to go back into the team's recorded chat. Just then, Ed enters the truck to check up on any recent updates and provide any assistance if possible.

Spike begins to play just after the conversation with the hostage inside.

"_No solution, no solution -,_ _Hold, Sam, he doesn't seem to have the intention of harming anyone. Sierra position stand down. Stand down and wait!__"_

The intrusion of Ed's voice on the recording had pretty much gone over Sam's voice at the end. Ed shifts his stance when he heard his harsh voice. Spike went back, but this time he played it muting Ed's chat to get a closer listen.

"_No solution, no solution—. " _Following after, were noises of clattering, presumably Sam's weapon, and a scuffle of bodies and feet. Then from a distance, a dark heavy voice, _"tie his hands and legs." _They all flash a look at one another and each berates themselves for letting this slip under their noses.

But its Ed whose feeling immensely guilty for not only biting out at Sam, but for blocking out the evidence unheard and assisting the subject in a getaway. Greg sees the guilt in his colleague's eyes and just places a hand over his shoulder gripping firmly. "We're going to get him back." And Ed gives a firm nod.

Spike brakes over the silence, knowing they can't waste any more time than they already had, "That was recorded at 11:36 a.m. So let's jump back 20-30 minutes before and see if we catch the subject entering one of the doors." They all intensely watched the screen as it fast forward from 11:06 a.m.

"Got him," Spike spoke just as a figure rounded the corner of the ally and entered through the ally's side door. "Time was at 11:25 a.m. Looks like we've got our subject-"

"Wait," Ed commented as the tape continues playing and another figure approaches also going into the door. So there are two – three? Everyone observed as another one immediately after enter the building.

"We've got three subjects?" Spike pivots his head over his should to look at Greg and Ed. Both are equally surprised. "Subject one entered at 11:25:04, numero dos at 11:25:11, and the third party at 11:25:16. So they got the jump on Sam within a matter of 11 minutes…"

"They wasted no time and had probably targeted Sam when he entered the building. Spike, see if you can get facial recognition on any of these perps," Greg glanced at the time now. It was 11:52 a.m.

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><p>When Sam wakes into awareness, all of his senses are overwhelmed. His head feels extremely heavy and disorientated, even with his eyes closed. And, oh man, the smell. First, a distinct smell was from the chloroform that left an awful residue in the back of his throat that not only he could smell but taste in his dry mouth. Then combined with that was the smell of rotten eggs and overpowering ocean scent.<p>

It was hard to tell, but he had a feeling he hadn't been out cold for too long, so it was safe to say he wasn't dosed with much chloroform. It still had the effect of feeling groggy like a hangover.

The disorientation has him feeling like he's swaying. Or maybe he is swaying. It's all hard to tell with his eyes closed to his surroundings. He opens, more like pries, his eyes slowly, daring to spare a glance.

Okay, it is definitely the room swaying and bobbing. The place is dimly lit by a three small circular windows that reveals a crisp, blue sky. Other than that, the room is bare and cold, besides a couple of chains on the ground and himself. He noted two doors, one possibly a storage room or closet and the other most likely his only possible escape, if there came the time.

Sam assumes he is on a boat. Now time to assess his physical condition. His face is slightly bruised, as he recalls that punch to the cheek. He is nicely secured to a metal chair with his hands bound behind his back and ankles tied to the chair's legs.

'Alright, Sam, time to get into action and get out of this conflict you've got yourself into.' He thought to himself as he begins trying to move the chair and test if it will budge. Just as he successfully moves it a centimeter, one of the doors slams open with the subject catching him in the act. The subject smirks coldly at the futile attempt and Sam glares back. Suddenly the one man is backed up with two other men.

"It's time to say hello to your boss," the first one, Sam presumes as the main or leader, so he decides to call him Head 'Honcho', walks into the room with the others following suit holding a video camera and rope.

'I'm in deep shit…' Sam can't help but wonder what these guys plan to gain from doing this.

Honcho brings out his headset, Sam only just realizing his vest and headset are gone, then he nods over to his pals who stand unwelcoming either side of Sam.

"You might want to think about what your doin-," the punch comes so fast and quick to Sam's jaw that he doesn't have time to prepare and instead takes the full weight of the impact. His jaw makes a sharp cracking sound as his head swings to his left shoulder. Sam regains his posture while moving his jaw around, reassuring him that it's not broken.

Another fist aims towards his temple, but this time Sam rolls with the punch, receiving less damage. But damn they worked in pairs and another fist instantly comes just as fast to knock his head back. Then it became a non-stop bash as fist after tight locked fist swung out smashing into his face that now sports a variety of different dark shades of colours.

Then a foot rams into his torso which leaves him doubling his head to his chest and coughing. Each returned to a stiff standing posture indicating a break from his beating, but both hover close by ready for the second wave as soon as Honcho gives the word.

"Hello Gregory Parker. Nice to finally chat," the man now holds the head set in position to his face. Sam turns his head to have a look see to what's going on, but receives another serious punch to a spot that's already been hit multiple times. He let out a groan.

"Oh he's fine for the time being. How's your bomb situation going?" this guy sounds in no rush which Sam finds a bit unsettling. Shortly after, Honcho lets out a brief 'Humph,' but not one of disgruntlement but rather relaxed amusement.

"Man whose all business. Alright, well, let's get going then. I have your team mate as a little insurance policy, as you already should know, and I also have a request which you will perform in order for your member back home safely. You must release Kamal Raher to me for a trade off, until then," he pierced a hard, cold look to the men who both nodded back in understanding; "Your comrade is at my mercy. I'll contact you in an hour's time."

One grabbed the camera and turned it on, pointing it directly at Sam who shot a glare. Dammit, so he is not only a hostage but soon-to-be visual incentive to the demands.

"Now, don't be stupid and say anything to the camera. We might just blow up that building with that pathetic kid or the little surprise hooked underneath your units truck. But feel free to express your pain as loud as you want," The other one smugly states and proceeds forward towards Sam. When he gets in reach, he latches onto Sam in the space between his neck and just before his left shoulder while the other hand grips to his upper arm.

Sam closes his eyes already catching onto the gist of what's to come. In a simultaneous movement, the man pushes Sam's body back as he yanks hard on his arm, all his muscles strain until he hears the agonizing suctioning pop in his shoulder. Sam releases a choked back groan, not willing to give his captors the satisfaction.

The man releases his grasp on his arm, which is a relief to his restrained wrists, but shoots pain up his shoulder. Sam bites down on his lip.

Now the camera man is smirking as he settles the camera onto a tripod still capturing the beating. He makes his way next to Sam's side again and both wear matching smirks above him.

Here comes round two.

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><p><strong>AN:** Yay! Enjoy chapter two. More violence to come in the next session so be prepared.


	4. Painful Visual

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay! I know it took a lot longer to update than the previous chapters, but I was on break from school before. So time is a little pressed at the moment, but don't worry I'll continue on with the story because of the awesome reviews I've been receiving! Just the updates may be slower. Anyways, so this chapter contains lots of ongoing investigation and violence of whump Sam. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Painful Visual<strong>

Jules approaches Greg with Wordy close at side. She holds Sam's vest tightly in her enclosed fist looking upset, but strongly determined. Greg connects his eyes with hers and gives a slight, if not, unnoticeable, reassuring nod.

"What have we got so far?" Jules presses the issue instead of allowing to be consumed by the noticeable absence of Sam.

"We got three suspects on video that Spikes identifying and still four scared hostages trapped with a bomb up there," Greg knew he had to remain in control for his team and the situations sake, but damn, being the leader in this was pressing that control. They had little to go on until Spike hit the jackpot on facial recognition from the camera, if any at all.

Greg enters the truck with Jules and Wordy. The truck now cramped with the team inside, all with the best interest of finding Sam and solving this mess. Greg glances at his watch again; time now is 11:59 a.m., but snaps into 12:00 p.m. As soon as noon strikes, they all began to hear the low static frequencies on their on-going chat receivers.

Ed looks to Greg sternly and then shoots a look at Spike.

"It's Sam's mic," Spike confirms and his body goes rigid. The static sounds a bit distant and the noises spike every so often indicating a louder sound. The static fades out as the background sound comes in clearer to everyone as an audible sound of a beating.

Ed holds up his hand flat signaling silence listening to every sound. Everyone jumps up at the distinct groan. Jules hand now unconsciously shakes by her side with anticipation and worry.

"_Hello Gregory Parker. Nice to finally chat," _a heavily accent voice sliced the tense silence of the room with a tone underlying vehemence.

Greg finally snaps back into the situation as he realizes the voice is directed to him. He softly clears his voice and readjusts his stance, "Hello, you've given me and my team quiet the run around. How's my man doing?"

"_Oh he's fine for the time being. How's your bomb situation going?" _The man's casual tone alone irked the team as each fought to hold their tongue. No wrong moves could be played or otherwise it could cost Sam's life, it was just that easy.

"Well, you've got more than a few unwilling participants up there. So why don't we cut to the chase to get what you want, then everyone gets to go home safe."

_"Man whose all business. Alright, well, let's get going then,"_ by now the team places the man's accent as a thick Russian voice.

" _I have your team mate as a little insurance policy, as you already should know, and I also have a request which you will perform in order for your member back home safely. You must release Kamal Raher to me for trade off," _Greg snapped his fingers rapidly at Spike to begin searching the name in the database.

"_Until then… your comrade is at my mercy. I'll contact you in an hour's time." _The other side all but died away.

Greg bit down on his bottom lip racing over the scenario before raising his hand that held up three fingers. Everyone immediately changed their team chat onto channel 3.

"Spike." Greg sighs out.

"Boss, I got a hit on Kamal Raher. He was arrested about 18 months ago for manufacturing and selling illegal bomb trades linked to a terrorist ring. He was immediately put on trial and sentenced life behind bars. Boss, if this guys a terrorist ..." Spike didn't hide the doubt in his voice.

"I know. No negotiating with terrorist. Dammit."

"However, I was able to get a hit on our third subject who didn't hide his face quiet well enough," Spike smiled at the accomplishment, but only to receive Wordy's tap on his shoulder followed hand signal for him to get to the point. "Subject's name is Leo Kozlov and he's been living in the US for 3 years. That's all we got on him other than that, no known criminal activity. Guy kept a low profile, until now."

"Nice work, Spike. See if you can dig up any leads to a possible location, like this guy's home address. He's gotta live somewhere," Ed receives Spike's firm nod and jumps to work. Even though the information didn't lead them to any details on the other two yet or any ideas where to look, they could only persist.

A thunderous knocking resounded in the truck from the door. Greg made his way towards the door and proceeded to open it, only to come face to face with a tall, stiff officer who looked unhappy, to say the least.

"What the HELL is going on here, Sergeant Parker? We still have a hostage situation above and here you are cooped up in the truck with no obvious signs of action taking place. So I'm just trying to figure what kind of show your running here," the abrupt cutting tone of the man was pissing Greg off as he fully exited the vehicle and stood in front matching the man's hostile posture.

"The SRU team is doing everything they can right now to try and secure the situation, while you guys continue to stand around acting like you're actively solving the situation. Now I got a man missing, a young man up there who is also a hostage in this ordeal, and no way to guarantee safe removal of that bomb when an unknown source holds the trigger, who could very well be anyone in the crowd," Greg could feel his chest clench with the explosion of anger he unleashed, but he'd be damned if anyone told him that his team is slacking.

The officer refused to soften his stare, but his posture crumbled in the Sergeants presence, "Well, keep my team posted with the updates so we can help this situation along." The man left to return the scattered officers who stood nearby.

Jules exits the truck standing next to Greg after overhearing the loud conversation from inside the command truck.

Jules tenses next to him as she views a black man with a package approaching. Without hesitation, Jules raises her weapon towards the man, "Stop where you are! Don't come any closer! What's in the package?" All eyes around took a defensive stance to the man who is now raising his hands up with the package.

"Holy shit, don't shoot! I-I just was paid to deliver this package to the truck and," he glances at the label on the package. "SRU team. I didn't think I'd have a gun pointed at me for it." He slowly moves to place the package down on the ground before returning to raise his hands up in surrender.

Spike, who overhears the commotion, hops out of the truck, along with Ed and Wordy, and is carrying a bomb scanner. He indicates to the delivery guy to move away as Spike slowly inches towards the package. Quickly scanning the inside of package, Spike shakes his head to his team behind him, "No bomb inside."

Spike swoops down to pick up the package before handing it off to Greg, each sharing a look that hinted they knew what it regarded.

"Jules, go question our personal delivery service over there to see if he knows who gave him the package."

"But Sarge—" Jules' words fell short when she notices Greg's facial expression and briefly nods before stalking over to the delivery guy.

Greg unseals the brown package wrapping cautiously, but with added haste. He opens the cardboard box's lid and peers inside before slightly tilting the contents out into his hand. First, to tumble out was a USB flash drive which Greg immediately hands over to Spike who reenters the truck. Then, a small cylinder device with a red button on the top rolls out onto Greg's open palm which rushes release to one pressure from his mind. His heart races- it's the trigger. He could believe it, this really was all set up to nab his guy for a trade off. Whoever Kamal was, he obviously is man of extreme importance to the subjects.

He raises his hand to the officer from before and uses his fingers to direct him over to Greg. The officer follows over and Greg waste no time handing the trigger over carefully, "Get a bomb squad up there to deactivate that bomb and remove all the hostages."

Swiftly, Greg turns around to fling the door open and right up behind Spike, "What do we have?"

But before Spike can even explain, his focus that's directed on the screen answers with a pop up message relaying a video recording. The recording shows Sam tied to a chair with a man twice his size grabbing onto Sam's left shoulder then aggressively pulling until the gut wrenching pop occurs. A groan from the blonde escapes and his head droops forward a little before he's hit with a firm punch to his face. The second assailant enters into view and joins in the beating before the screen goes black.

The whole team is breath is caught, loss for words. The screen flashes white written text on the dark screen before anyone can gather any voice. "Continue with live entertainment," and a "Click here" button below the text is shown on the screen.

Spike hesitantly clicks the button and is even more stunned to see a beaten to the pulp Sam sitting with his head pulled back by a rough hand through his disheveled hair. The second man smacks Sam across the face with less force than before either due to the fact they didn't to beat Sam to death or they were just getting bored.

Ed turns away from the screen and releases an "Oh god," under his breath then returns back to the video. If he could guess, it looked like they never stopped the beating from the last recording.

"Boss, I got some info from our delivery man," Jules almost burst through the door as bundled up tension floods out. Her eyes lock with Greg's eyes that are filled with dread, then locates the source of dread. She slaps a hand to her mouth as her eyes open unbelievably wide and her whole body frozen in place. After a long aching moment her hand slightly trembles away as her eyes float from the visual to the empty air beside her. "Oh god," her voice is barely a whisper as she swallows a lump constricting her throat.

Greg lays a strong hand on her shoulder slightly jolting her back, "Jules, we have to stay together. This is what they want and we can't give them the satisfaction. I need you to stay present and strong."

Jules nods weakly and increasingly stronger. "Uh, the delivery guy, uh..." She tries to refocus, "he picked up the package just before the time we first received contact with the subject. He said he was called to the location, 4th Street off of Brigs Dr., about four blocks away. When he arrives, a guy in a "sweet" black Cadillac STS hands him a package with two hundred dollars. Apparently, he paid more attention to the ride than the driver, so he has no idea who gave him the package, only that he gave him instructions where to deliver it with a thick accent." By the end of spewing the information, Jules regained a firmer, unwavering voice.

"Good work Jules. Wordy, go find out how the hostages are and see if you can speak with Ryan." Greg felt like the only thing he did was shoot out constant set of orders, but his team understood and respected his actions with immediate response.

His team is the best he could've asked for and he intends to keep it that way with no more losses. He couldn't lose another, not again, even though they all knew the risks, but he would do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening. As would everyone else in the group. He shook away the distraction.

"Boss, we got something going on here," Spike informs the team and each gather around closely to observe the latest movement on the live screening.

* * *

><p>Sam feels like one massive, throbbing pain now. He can feel it radiating from his burning bruised muscles and he's honestly surprised his vision is still focused. Although his mouth tastes that of copper iron, it also is extremely dry and swollen.<p>

At least they took an interval from the mindless beating. He wonders what his team knows by now and how much lead on a trace they have on his location. He begins to doubt; probably not a whole lot, not because his team is inept, but these guys definitely covered their tracks well. There wouldn't be any other reason. All he has to do is endure it throughout and he knows he can. Hell, it's not the first time he's got the shit beat out of him.

A movement towards him has his stomach sinking. Please, not another round now, his face already felt two times swollen and on the verge of being numb.

Sam is on guard as one burly men goes behind him to remove the restrains on his wrist while the second unties the rope from one of his ankles. A sudden rush of adrenaline pumps through his system as he takes advantage while the second rope is being untied from his ankle; he smashes his freed knee with as much force as he can into the man's face, hearing the satisfying crack of a broken nose. The man stumbles back with a horrible yell and clutching his nose that now gushes blood. Another angry shout simultaneously bursts through the room as the other guy lunges at Sam gripping onto his neck and pushing the chair backwards. Sam falls backwards with the chair slamming painfully into the ground and cries out before his throat is constricted from the man choking off the sound.

"You son of a bitch!" the man squeezing his neck hisses. Sam's struggles are futile as he lamely tries to knee the man in the stomach. The man's bruising force restricts his air long enough for his vision to slowly go hazy and dark.

"Enough!" Honcho bellows from the side with his face growing an angry shade of red.

'Tsk' the man hold the force before reluctantly releasing Sam's neck with a shove. Sam sucks in for air in too quickly and is thrown into a dry coughing fit. He's panting ragged now, but his vision returns to a dull ceiling.

"Imbeciles! Can't even take one beaten guy half your size!" Honcho huffs out running a hand through his dark hair. He quickly regains composure with dark, menacing features and speaks in a cold, blunt voice, "Hang him up for the next torture."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Kind of wrote this in a bit of a hurry, so I'll be sure to revise any errors later. If you see anything that could use correction or rewording or just doesn't sound right, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review (it's always encouraging)!


	5. Torture With A Past

**Author's Note: ** Happy to announce another update! So lately I have those nights where I'm constantly thinking about my own fantasy fanfiction, I continue to add on to my story a little (I know sounds weird, but I bet I'm not the only one who does it, I think its common for those nights you have trouble sleeping!) Also, my iPhone's notepad has served a great use for jotting down specific events or even just broad ideas that will help me develop this story. So even though the updates are farther apart, I'm still actively writing and getting a good firm idea where I'm going to take this. I want to inform you that I have altered some of the previous chapters (not by much!) but just things that popped up that could pose as a conflict of interest, but really nothing big just minor details. Anyways, as always, I hope you enjoy!

ALSO, I just want to thank all of my reviewers! I love reading all your comments and it makes me so excited to write. Thank you!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters.

**Warnings: **Torture, Violence, Child Abuse (not too descriptive).

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><p><strong>Chapter 4:<strong> **Torture With A Past**

Needless to say, Sam wasn't thrilled to hear about the next torture that would involve him being strung up like a piece of frozen meat. But his captors on the other hand, didn't hold back their gleam of excite in their eyes.

The man who was previously strangling him moments ago now grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair before dragging him away from the chair towards a corner of the boat. In his other hand, he had rope and steel cable. He roughly let go of Sam's hair with a shove that brought Sam to the floor. He attempts to push himself up, but barely moves an inch before getting socked in the face, bringing him back to the floor. This time deciding to appreciate cool surface on his abused face.

The man doesn't allow much comfort for long and rolls Sam over onto his back, grabbing both Sam's hands in front of his body and proceeds bounding his wrists together with the thick rope, tightly securing a knot, obviously made impossible to be untied. When he's finished with his wrists he snakes his way down to his legs, using the steel this time.

Sam shivers and suddenly feels very insecure and tenses. The man begins to slides the leg of Sam's pants up, but in a way that his hand gentle brushes over his skin. Sam tears his legs out of the mans grasp, withdrawing up to his chest with his eyes widely looking questioningly and cautiously at the man. The man only gives a small chuckle then snatches Sam's ankles, yanking his legs back down, and proceeding the same process of lifting his pants up.

"I'm going to wrap this wire around your ankles so tight that any of your struggles will cause it to rub against your skin. Soon, you'll be rubbing your skin raw til you start to bleed- faster than the ropes will, anyways." The man's disturbing tone says a ton. First, he's sound coldly used to torturing people like it's something he does daily and second, he obviously deeply enjoys it.

He continues wrapping the wire cutting into Sam's skin, already feeling his feet tingling from loss of circulation. Any tighter his feet would probably fall off.

When he's all nice and prepared to be hung up as an additional decoration the man grabs him once again by the hair and drags him back over to the center of the room, where the man with the bloody nose stands on the chair, holding the chains in his hands. Sam stops being dragged a few feet away.

The man comes around from behind Sam, crouching up close enough, but not touching, and wraps his hands on either side of Sam. Sam clenches his teeth as the grip places a painful pressure on his dislocated shoulder.

The man leans close to Sam's ear so his hot, disgusting breath sweeps over and across the right side of his face. Chills rake down Sam's body. "See him threading the chains through that metal ring attached in the ceiling? We're going to string you up, Pig, so all your piglet friends can watch you squeal." The man licks his lips with a slurp. Sam uncomfortably shifts his head to left more, away from this psychopath. This guy has now earned the title "Creeper."

Now that Sam's head is turned he is aware of Honcho looking over at him with a look of...distrust? Uncertainty? Actually, the look wasn't for him, but for Creeper. Obviously he wasn't the only one lacking trust in the sadist behind him. Only did it come to Sam's attention that Creeper wasn't Russian like the other two, but rather Caucasian absent of any foreign accent. Didn't even seem to strong bonds with the leader.

Creeper's hand glides his fingers into Sam's hair again. God, any contact with this perverted bastard sent skevy vibes throughout Sam's core. Creeper firms his grip on a nice bunch of Sam's blonde hair just as the chains seemed ready for him.

"Ready?" Not a question needing a reply, Creeper pulled Sam up by his hair painfully rough as Sam struggled to help himself to his feet. They moved closer to the dangling chains and thread the chains twice under his bound hands.

This was not going to be pleasant. Both men quickly yanked both ends of the chains, pulling tight as Sam's arms forcibly rip up with his body following until his feet dangled an inch above the ground. Sam gasps and his face twists in pain trying to ride the overwhelming pull on his shoulder and ropes cutting into his wrists. His head rolls into his right arm, exhaling short and heavy, attempting to override the awful nausea filling his senses. The slight rocking of the boat is not helping.

At the moment he's unaware to the activity around him, but once he has more control over his senses, he blinks more into focus. By that time, Creeper holds a long knout whip and a eerie smile, ready for the familiar beating. Sam sets his face devoid of any emotion, already preparing himself physically for what's to come.

The first lash is modest to say the least. Sam knows as the time continues the hits will build rhythm with increase in force. And just as Sam predicts, the next one that lands is harder, more firm. The pattern of an 'X' slashing down each of his shoulders to his mid-lower back.

Frustrated by the lack of response, Creeper lashes out the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth finally causing a grunt to escape Sam's stoic posture.

'Hmph' Creeper sounds content, for a moment, and then continues with the rapid slashes, now really putting in a work out as he uses all his might to hear more from his victim. Every so often he's rewarded with a resistant grunt, but he wants more and more.

He slashes away, tearing through the cloth that separates him from the soft flesh he wants to see bleed. His animalistic strategy earns him a louder, uncontrolled groan. Creepers eyes blaze with lust for power and continues the motion of whipping while his wild eyes slowly haze over.

Sam bites down on his lip harder and harder with each corresponding hit. All his muscles ache, no, not even ache, burn on fire, stinging his abused skin. He struggles in his uncomfortable dangling position, but finds absolutely no relief, only more agony as his arm muscles strain. Finally, his insides churn in a total frenzy of being constricted finding no relief, his shoulder swelling, back shedding bleeding cuts, and his ankles have already been rubbed raw. Trust Creeper to be true to his word when it comes to suffering.

Not good, not good. Sam searches to find his center again to block out the overwhelming pain. Unintentionally, he flinches with a gasp at another deep laceration from the whip.

Creeper laughs out loud, jittering with the whip in hand and now with a new outburst of added ferocity, striking after strike of powerful blows. He watches mesmerized by the rivers of blood run down from the puffy welts on the man's back where his shirt is shredded apart revealing his own handiwork. Each new lash the young man jerks with a grunt, but where was the scream he wanted to hear?

But Sam was- somewhere else, zoned out in a place of memories he dreaded far worse. The painful memories flashed back to the time of when his younger sister died, his house never felt the same.

_Both of his parents took it badly. His mother was an emotional wreck, suddenly busting open crying_ _if there was even a brief connection mentioned involving his younger sister. There was nothing he could think of to say to make any of it alright, because it wasn't alright. But his father, no he never would cry, instead began to heavily drink which turned him into something resembling 'The Terminator.' Prior to the incident he never drank in anger or sorrow, but this time it was different. He lost his baby princess and for awhile, only saw disgust in the presence of his only son, remnants of the feeling still remain even now. _

_But this one night got really violent. His mother and older sister both went to his Aunt's house, unable to take dad's drinking habits anymore, which left Sam to take care of the mess. His stomach turned in dread, the whole house was silent, dark and held no warmth. He heard a loud crash jolting a new found fear inside him, realizing it came from his father's room. Waveringly, he made his way to the slightly ajar door, unsure if he really want to know what was behind the door now as if a beast would be there snarling his razor sharp teeth. It was worse.  
><em>

_He pushed the door open, revealing the dimly lit room. It was his father standing unsteadily watching his shattered bottle's contents dripping down the wall to the glass covered floor. Sam knew in his gut that he shouldn't do anything, that he should've turned on his heel and go straight to his room. Instead he tentatively stepped forward, "D-dad." His voice was a mere whisper unable to gather the nerves to say anything louder. His father didn't hear or ignored him so he tried again a bit louder, "Dad."_

_His father turned abruptly around staring at his son with eyes as cold as the frost snow that sent chills up Sam's spine. His whole body wanted to back peddle out of here, but his feet were unmoving, cemented to the ground._

_"Yooh've gat some nerve showin' your face," his father's speech slurred and could already smell the overpowering alcohol. "It's your own damn fault dis house is broken. Be ah pitiful boy and pay for what you'va destroyed."_

_It was Sam's fault. It had to be. Who else could be to blame? He doesn't know why but he finds his head nodding in agreement. His father having no idea that every night for weeks he's cried himself to sleep with self-loathing, looking over at the sister's forever unoccupied bed across the room. _

_His father points over to the wall with the broken bottle is shattered, "Stand over 'er an' take your shirt off." Sam has no idea why his feet decided to start working now as he shuffles across the room to the wall. He glances down at the sparkling glass and his bare feet, knowing damn well that his father picked this spot especially for him. Even drunk his father had it all planned out. Sam shakily lifted his shirt off over his head and felt the cold air sweep against his bare back._

_"Hands against the wall," his father rattled with his belt buckle as Sam leaned carefully with his hands either side of the liquid splatter and feet stepping cautiously into the pool of glass. He stands there exposed feeling so tense he might just throw up as his insides squeeze together. "Don't make any noise except respond 'Yessir' with wateverr I say to you," Sam's breathing quickened with a rush of absolute fear, but he nodded, because he deserved it.  
><em>

_The belt cut the air with a loud crack as he slapped up on Sam's skin which he jerked away, but not far enough. The second hit made a resounding slap throughout the room._

_"It's a man's duty to protect...to protect his family. His sister!" The angry strikes continued, "But you didn' protect your sister, you failed. You're no man, isn' that right?"_

_"Y-yes. Yessir," Sam choked back his sob and the tears that threatened to pool over. He wanted to cry out so badly that he was sorry. He wanted to apologize to his sister for not protecting her and letting her die in front of his frozen pathetic body. He wanted to break down and scream and cry and shout all the agony that boiled inside. His heart overfilling with unshed tears tainted with sorrow that tormented to spill. He swallowed deeply, he couldn't. No, he orders not to. So he dug the deepest well that not even the pump could reach and could be considered 'dried up.'_

_The same feelings surfaced when his best friend, also part of his family unit, died. He couldn't protect him. No, in fact, he could only kill him. Sam followed the orders always and this was just another, "Shoot to Kill." Oh, he killed alright. Killed his own. The blood would never wash away, just like his sisters._

"I'm sorry!" Sam's hoarse cry rips out, tearing raw his throat as another extremely painful lash lands between his dislocated shoulder and down diagonally where his open skin bleeds from previous hits. His back whipped bloody and wrist and ankles rubbed raw. Creeper is covered in sweat from the amount of energy he put into the abuse, but manages a feral smile.

Honcho raises a curious eyebrow at the young man's words and plasters a smug grin as he strides closer, holding up a hand to halt the abuse for a moment. "What are you sorry about?" he takes a closer look at his strung up captive and notices the glazed eyes distant, if lost in a far off place, obviously an unpleasant one.

"My fault...'m sorry," Sam's voice is a rough, raspy whisper.

Honcho slants his head in before proceeding to inch closer to Sam's ear while still looking into the young man's face, "You should be sorry. Repeat to me what you've done... after all, it is your fault." He intended for physical torture mostly, but hadn't planned on the mental torture being so satisfying. This man is two in one. He hoped his chances of getting what he wanted skyrocketed with this caught on camera, no doubt driving the whole team mad.

"I didn't...protect her...I shot him..." His words were confusing to Honcho, but apparently impacted his prisoner greatly. Honcho finally decides to wake him from the distant memories dumping ice cold water over Sam's head. Instantly, jolting Sam from his inner dark realm coughing and trying to refocus back into his lost reality. The cold water droplets run river down his open abused body and he can't repress a visible shiver. He blinks owlishly taking in his surroundings before he remembers, 'Oh yeah, Sam, your still in deep shit.'

He glances wide eyed at the video camera before snatching his face away to shy away from it's visual, attempting miserably to hide his shame. God, the tape caught it all. How could he let himself be consumed in the past and let everyone witness it? Now it was exposed, after all the times he never showed a single soul of his darker, hideous past. His team won't want him after they see what his piss poor pathetic self has done and how truly messed up he is. Who the hell would ever want that mess to clean up? Definitely not his team. They didn't need that weight lugging them down. And Jules...Steve was the obvious man now, he had no chance.

"Let's call your friends now, shall we?" Honcho smirks holding up the phone in the camera's view and pressing speed dial, ringing painstakingly until quickly answered.

_"Stop! Lets talk about this..."_

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><p>AN: That took me forever long to get out. Sorry guys. I've been trying to piece this all together so it fits and makes sense and flows. SO, I softly edited the previous chapter (I think it's mainly 2) just explaining why Sam never tries to talk directly to the camera (if that frustrated/confused you as much as it did me). So yeah I hopehopehope you enjoyed and aren't disappointed by where I took this after waiting for so long. And a glimpse at Sam's sad past. So there you go, I'll continue to write the next chapter!


	6. Withering Heart

**Author's Note:** I deeply apologize for making you guys wait for so long. Kind of got side tracked for awhile doing some other things (focusing a lot on my art) and really saved no time to write my beloved story! So this update isn't as long as the previous chapter, but I think it's fairly decent size. And I know that this doesn't have a lot of action, but lots of team angst is for sure in this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Withering Heart<strong>

Four-sixth of team bundled up in the command truck, luckily with enough room, but not entirely comfortable to move around in. Four out of six members present, with Wordy still out questioning the hostages and Sam's spot remaining empty, for the moment. All of Team One would be damned if they'd let anything happen to Sam. Still they all were forced to watch something they wouldn't want anyone to have to witness.

The camera's clear view of Sam. Sitting there abused, tied down, and beaten, but that did nothing to Sam's inner determination and valor. You could see it even as he sat there.

The two subjects walked over to Sam's side and began to undo his restraints, clearly not to free him, but to rearrange him differently for whatever sick plan they had next.

As soon as they see Sam lash out, successfully kneeing his assailant, everyone inside cheers him on, watching the man turn away with blood running down his face and hands with a face that twisted in agony that they could all appreciate.

But their cheers didn't last long when the man closest to Sam, but still unable to get a clear shot of his face, pounces on top of Sam, bringing them both flipping backwards on the chair. Things were too chaotic to actually see what was happening, but they all assumed from the way the man was positioned, that he was strangling their partner.

All of the team's bodies tensed with anger in unison. It was funny actually, how in sync everyone on the team became together; if one of their own was in pain, they all were in distress.

The sound of the man, clearly the one they spoke to on the phone, erupted angrily and halting the abusive actions.

Greg removed his eyes from the screen, knowing Spike would update him on further advancements, but right now he had the job of being their leader. So consuming himself in his emotions would only be detrimental.

"Winnie, can you do a search on any cameras located on 4th Street - Brigs Drive, where the package was received by our delivery guy. Look for the car model anywhere near and if you do- tail it," he handed over Winnie a tedious task, which he would have had Spike run, but he needed to stay with the feed, and Greg knew just as well Winnie has the capable skills required. She is just as necessary and apart of the team.

_"You got it, Sarge."_

The door opened outward revealing Wordy standing with a youth- Ryan. Greg promptly walks out, offering a light hearted smile, "Hey Ryan, glad we got you out safe."

"Yeah, I just wanted to say thanks... wasn't expected this at all today. Not everyday you get to tell your friends you had a live bomb stuck to your chest." Ryan sounded more eased, certainly not having a bomb attached to you would have that effect, but now he just looked like a normal, intelligent young adult.

Wordy interjects the conversation steering it into a more helpful direction, "So Ryan was describing to me what happened..." He looked towards Ryan indicating him to tell Greg.

"Yeah, so I was just walking to work, Ralph's Pizza House, and this van just pulls up beside me and grabs me. I just remember the tires screeching and feeling really tired before I knocked out. I-I have no idea where they took me. I had this bag over my head, so I couldn't see, but the smell was... awful...like...rotten eggs and it was damp and cold. I got the sense we were moving, not like a car, but I was starting to feel pretty woozy. They put me back in the car when the bomb was attached and drove for awhile." Ryan paused trying to remember the full details of his kidnapping, "That s'all I remember...sorry."

"That's okay, Ryan. You did good," although Greg did appreciate the kids help he couldn't help but bite his lip in disappointment.

"But when they were ready to let me go, they told me where to go and told me what I had to do. They said just grab a hostage and I'd live, t-that they didn't want to hurt me and I just needed to wait until they got what they needed... I have no idea what they are going to do." Ryan looked up, eyes glistening as if saying that was everything he had to say.

"Thank you, Ryan. Even the little details help us investigate. Let's get an officer to take you home," he waves over a officer who walks over and takes Ryan to his car.

Greg nods his head to the command truck. Wordy and him both approach as the door flings open and Jules makes a hasty exit, flying out and quickly moving away looking visibly shaken. Wordy silently volunteers to check up on Jules, making sure no one else of the team was exposed and by themselves.

Greg doesn't want to see it. He doesn't have to, _have to_, but he would no longer have his job or his unit, but it wasn't like someone was pointing a gun to his head telling him he had to go in, so he had every option to run away from it all. But he wouldn't ever abandon his team, _ever_. So hesitantly he steps in, entering knowing full well he won't like what he will see.

Ed and Spike both are hardened and facial features somewhat sunken. However, Ed's deathly glare says he's just about had it with these guys and probably will shoot them on sight and Spike's fist clench and unclench periodically trying to contain his overflowing anger. He inwardly flinches at loud cracking sound.

Greg's eyes move to the monitor. Just as he thought. He's viewing Sam strung up, his left arm looking painfully swollen, features tight, as he tried to relieve the pressure, but unable and instead hung there unmoving. More gut wrenching sounds crack from the whip striking through the air and landing harshly upon Sam's back. How on Earth was he, Greg Parker, the one and only, going to solve this and make this torture end?

It was almost scary to hear Spike's voice in the quiet space, but also because the tone seethes with hot venom he's never heard before, "The only good thing about this position is we finally got a clear visual on our perp. Ran him through facial recognition and got a hit..."

The pause hinted something concerning, "What did you find, Spike?"

"Thomas Staton. He's on the police alert for brutally killing two women in his home's basement. All evidence is confirmed he killed them."

Greg closes eyes. Did he dare ask the question that floated in the air? "How'd he kill them?"

Spike inhales and exhales slowly, "Well they went missing, last seen at a bar. So he kidnapped them and held them hostage for a week. During that time, he tortured them all sorts of psycho whack job ways. When the police found the women they were heavily mutilated and took some time to I.D them. Staton was no where to be found. That was a few months ago and they are still looking for him."

"...until now."

They all returned their gazes back to the screen after another sickening strike. However, Sam...he didn't seem with it anymore. His body was still tense, face still pinched , but the agony on his face was distant. They couldn't see the determination, the fighting spirit they all knew, anymore. It was haunting how his body would jerk, but his face never changed with eyes fixated on nothing.

Staton, with wild eyes, furiously lashed the whip down and down again onto their partners back. Eddie was starting to even feel sick and he had an iron stomach.

Jules and Wordy sullenly returned into the truck when a dreadful, horrible, awful, painful, words-alone-can't-describe-it, scream filled the truck with Sam ringing in the team's ears. Everyone's breath caught abruptly as they directed their attention solely onto Sam.

_"I'm sorry!" _Rough, raw, and broken. It was nothing the team had heard resembling Sam. Sam chokes on his rough sob weakly gasping for breath almost as if he can't breathe. Then that damn smile on Staton's face is just plain disgusting and Ed just wants to tear it off, shred it up, toss it away, and never ever see it again.

The broad Russian man make his way onto the screen, back facing the camera as he approaches Sam's throbbing body.

"_What are you sorry about?"_

"_My fault...'m sorry," _Sam's voice a mere whisper, almost inaudible, if the team hadn't been on full alert, eyes glued, ears absorbing everything mode.

"_You should be sorry. Repeat to me what you've done... after all, it is your fault."_ It was sickening to listen to the man's mocking tone using this as more torture against Sam. This was turning into some sick torture-some psych evaluation to dig up dirt on Sam's past, reopening the painful wounds.

"_I didn't...protect her...I shot him..._" The team swallowed the thick lump of shock in their throats. This wouldn't mean a whole lot to someone who did not know Sam, but to the team, it made perfect sense what Sam believed he was guilty of doing. Shooting his pal, Ben, and for his sister's death. Both accidental and most definitely not Sam's fault.

The water splashed onto Sam, immediately jolting him from his past subconscious state. The look of confusion replaced by unnerving fear that frightened the team. It didn't take a psychologist to read Sam's ashamed face that he shield away from the team. That was painful. Painful how Sam would believe that they would despise and reject the darker truth to Sam. Painful to see the million of unspoken, yet screaming, thoughts that tore through his mind of hideous, cruel, self-destructive things.

Their bright, strong Sam bring brought down to his knees as the wolves tear apart the layers upon layers of protection to cage in these dark times.

What painful memory Sam had been in, the team had no idea, but the thought alone scared everyone, wondering how the lashing had brought out the memory. God, no one wanted to know if it was worse than what they imagined.

Jules can't take anymore. She pushes her face into Wordy's chest, seeking comfort in her team mate. He can only embrace her, but he can't take away the pain. Not from her, the team, or himself.

"_Let's call your friends now, shall we?"_ The words make Greg leap already shooting for the phone foreseen to ring.

The ring doesn't even last one full ring before Greg answers on speaker.

"Stop! Let's just talk about this..." The words fall out. They didn't have Kamal like the subjects wanted, heck, it wasn't even possible. They had no strategic plan to set in play. No hits on a location, or even an I.D on the leader.

_'God Greg, what the hell are you going to do?'_

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><p><strong>AN:** I know this chapter is slow coming, and I'm trying to get back into the juicey stuff. So please read and review. Anything of insight, constructive criticism, or just some nice encouraging words ALWAYS helps. Thanks so much, I'll try to improve my updates. Btw, does any happen to know the name of Sam's best friend that he shot? The episode Behind the Blue Line and Wikipedia say Ben, but a lot of fictions say Matt. So any insight on that would be nice to clear up too!


	7. Heart Convulsion

**Author's Note:** Well, I know this chapter isn't all that long either. It's one of those things I have all mapped out and ready, but just need to get it all out. Which isn't that hard when you've got more free time on your hands, but lately just been working really hard on other things. Plus, I don't want to write this without my full focus and keep it nicely written, and not looking thrown together in two minutes. Aha. So here's chapter 6 and I'm thinking I should probably add warnings to this, it's got torture violence, be prepared!

**Warning: **Torture, violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Plan Deception<strong>

_"Stop! Let's just talk about this..."_

"I'm all for talking, Parker. So do you have Kamal yet?" It was obvious in Honcho's tone that he already knew the answer to the question before it even left his lips, but he might as well give them a chance. His tactics of persuasion needed a bit longer before their desperation was to kick in.

Greg bites his lips, "No, we -"

"Then there's nothing to discuss." Honcho sets his middle finger to his thumb ready to snap.

"Wait! We just need more time to arrange transfer-"

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Parker," Honcho voice began to rise with violence that punctuated his words with a harsh demeanor. "I don't believe we are on the same understanding. I am going to continue to torture your colleague until my demands are met. So the longer you drag your feet - only costs your buddy more time to suffer. And don't you damn play games with me. I know how the system works, which is why I will be relentless with my tactics." The pause was stiff. "So, you and your S-R-U team, can continue to watch the video feed to- decide, whether or not I'm a man of my word. I'll call you in 45 minutes, I really don't think he'll handle the next torture for a whole hour." The other line cut out.

Honcho smiles to Staton and Leo to return giving their accommodations to their captive guest. The SRU team must be fuming in distress and it was perfect. This wasn't obviously his first negotiation, most likely not his last either, but he's had his experience with working to get what he wanted.

Staton leans in and whispers eerily into Sam ear. Staton's stare returns, latched onto the captive's back with a look of admiration like he had just created a master piece of crimson on his victim. His hand moving along the lacerations applying an uncomfortable pressure by the looks their captive. Sam's breath hitches with a hiss feeling the sting of a particularly deep over-whipped gash.

As Honcho observes Staton's interaction with their hostage, he becomes nerved in the presence of the psycho. This is what he hired him for, sure, but the pleasure he got from it was creepy to say the least. Personally, the SRU agent was just seen as leverage, a business tool to get what he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.

"C'mon, let's get the entertainment started." Honcho snaps before walking out of the one and only door.

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><p>Greg licks his lips anxiously seeing the floor cluttered with the objects that went flying in his rage.<p>

"Guys, we need to work on a plan." Greg makes a clicking sound with his lips and exhales, "And I'm going to be honest with you, there's no way were getting Kamal out to trade. You all know we don't do those negotiations."

"Then Sarge, what do you expect us to do?" Jules frantic undertones are heard as everyone else silently broods in their own nerves.

"We do something I told you never to do. We're going to- improvise with a bit of lying. Of course we'll have to back up that lie, so we need to really work at it in these 45 minutes."

Everyone nods stronger now. Just by hearing the determination in their leader sparked a new life and energy into the team.

"But we need to work fast." Everyone couldn't be more ready as their ears were open and anxious to hear the plan.

* * *

><p>Sam watches the subjects bring in some bulk of various equipment. He didn't know what was coming to him next, but right now his mood is deflated, so he could care less. Which was very un-Sam-like, but what else could he wait for? A hope that was surely false? There is no way, not even with Greg, to remove a terrorist prisoner for trade offs. The government would take no excuses, even with this scenario.<p>

His head droops even more looking down at the blood splatter and drops on the floor. Sam's muscles pull painfully tight and his arms wanting nothing more than to be brought back down. He was never a prisoner in the military, so he never actually went through torture like this, but Sam thought he would be stronger than this, easily toughing it out. Guess he was wrong about that.

And what the team saw- god, this is a disaster. Sam caught clump in this throat as his eyes redden.

_'No, not now.'_ He silently clears his throat which receives a look from Staton, who is still preparing the equipment together. Sam pulls his head back in the game and observes the devices. It's some sort of box with a few wires snaking out of it and attached to one was a metal wand with a shiny bronze tip, and a handle.

Sam turns away from it. He's seen this before when he was in training for the military. You know, precautions to take when dealing with these sort of situations. Electric shock torture, no doubt to send high-volts of electricity coursing throughout his body. He grits his teeth, feeling that it's the waiting for it to happen that makes it worse.

Staton rises to his feet turning around and delivering another one of those feral smiles towards Sam. Staton picks up the box bringing it over with him to where Sam hangs useless.

"I have a feeling you already know what this is," he places the metal rod on Sam's stomach, which earns a jump out of Sam, only to realize the power hasn't even been turned on yet. Staton laughs heartily.

"The thing about this baby is it's got a nice voltage on it, but low currents. You may not know a whole ton about this so I'll explain," Staton circles round the backside of Sam until he's at the left side of Sam's ear. "The shocks are painfully sufficient, but in a way it won't kill you, so we'll have a nice prolonged session. That's why this device is so illegal."

Staton squats next to the box, adjusting some of the switches until a buzzing ring vibrates through the room. He rises slow with the rod firmly in his hand.

"Now, let's be sure to give your pals the good entertainment they're all waiting to see," and without warning the lit rod jabbed into Sam's bloody back.

Sam's head tosses back with his teeth clenched tight, but still eliciting a loud agonizing yell from the burning sensation on his back. His body is rigid, tight and convulsing as all the electric sparks that travel up to his head and down to his toes. The minute the rod is pulled away, his body goes limp, but still shaking with the current left within his body.

Another scream tore out from Sam's ragged throat as he rod grinds into his open wounds. A burning shock everywhere in his body, boiling his blood, and furiously shaking through his arms and legs. And Staton just holds it there, calm and cool like a spring breeze with no care in the world.

After what seems like eons, the rod pulls back, letting Sam's body fall completely lax. His head even leaning against his dislocated shoulder, but no energy to move it.

And from there, it only continued. Five minutes down and just another forty more to go.

* * *

><p>Greg glares at each one of his team, and receives a nod of understanding in return. The plan was set and nothing was going to stop them from getting Sam back.<p>

"By the next phone call, we need to be completely ready. We don't need him suspicious of any time delays. So, Spike, get ready. Eddie, brief team two when they arrive. We need to do this right." Greg turns back to face the screen, reading their next move. They weren't giving a full hour and he wanted to know why.

But he wasn't expecting to see the box and his stomach drops down to his feet. He senses Jules just behind him do the same. They all have seen this equipment before and the effects were terrifying if you thought about it. The experience might as well feel like you'd been engulfed in the flames of hell. Hadn't Sam been through enough?

Jules clasps her hands tightly together with her lips pressed just as firm against her white knuckles.

The loud buzzing brought their attention back and it told them the subjects were ready to move. Right now, Greg, Jules, and Wordy stood staring wordlessly into the screen. They would get these sorry son of a bitches and make them pay for it all. Greg couldn't wait to slap those cuffs on them and not read them any rights, because why should they have rights after all this?

The rod struck Sam and his form arched tight. His hands clenching so tightly and legs glued together so tightly. The scream that ejected it's way to the video camera is just unbearable.

When the screaming stops, Jules could still barely breath herself. She looks at Sam's trembling form hanging there and she can't suppress her own trembles. All the jumbled thoughts run through her mind faster than the electric current._ 'No, no...no, not Sam. Why you? I love you, Sam, just please...'_

Her mind stopped. Slammed into a wall she couldn't go past. She loved Sam, always had. The way he came on so strong when they first met, the way he smiles at her, the way he's so protective, the way he held her, the way he- kissed her. He just meant to so much to her, and not just her, but the whole entire team. Everyone meant so incredibly much to her, but Sam she loves in a different way.

More screams tore through the monitor. And she just breaks.

"I'm sorry, Sarge," She escapes through the door leaving the broken screams of the one she loves behind. She'd be back, but not before she prepared for what she had to do. No more tears streak down her face, because now, she is determined more than ever to throw back what these perps deserved. Nothing is going to stop her from protecting the one she loves.

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><p><strong>AN:** So not much, but surely coming along. Those who read, I would unconditionally love your reviews. Thanks!


	8. Show Time

**Author's Note:** This story is not abandoned, I'm still here! It's just been…going through delays lately. I must apologize to all readers for not updating in a long time. Last months of school were jam packed with finals and such. I must also admit I lost my motivation to write for a bit (I never considered leaving this unfinished!) but it just took me awhile to pick back up. I will finish this story, don't worry. Because as a reader myself, I know how disheartening it can be when a story becomes abandoned or stops updating. I think I'll plan to write shorter pieces, but I want to be more frequent with updates. Then maybe when I'm finished I'll combine the shorter works in complete chapters. Well tell me what you think and I just want to thank all the readers and reviewers. Every single post makes my day.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Show Time<strong>

Mind foggy, body shaken, energy draining. It's the weirdest feeling Sam's felt. Kind of how people describe those outer-body moments, where you're there, but not really. He can still feel the residue of currents tingle throughout his body, which is probably the only thing that's keeping him present, but everything else has numbed away. That might be a good thing; otherwise, he'd be in a whole bundle of hurt right about now.

The hot rod places once again on his back and Sam mocks a scream, but nothing comes out of his ragged throat. His heart beat is so incredibly loud in his ears now, spiking every time he's hit with another jolt.

Sam sincerely wonders if this is the end for him. The conversations on the phone don't seem to be looking up for him, not that he expected them to, but he at least held some hope. He won't be able see new releases at the movies, eat at his favourite restaurant, work alongside his team, or even forever hold Jules. Well he might have never gotten the chance to permanently hold Jules anyways, so who was he kidding.

Water splashed on him again, and for once he was thankful. The cool rivers simmered the heat from his body. He blinked owlishly as he regained full awareness to the man in front of him with an empty metal bucket. Honcho.

"Thanks," it's a soft, raspy whisper and Sam's not quite sure why he said thanks to his captor, but he catches a glimpse of pity in the man's eye.

"Can't have you dying on us," Honcho huffs out. "The time's almost up anyways, so we'll let you have a moments rest."

Creeper does not seem to like putting a halt to his menstruations, but he complies by turning off the electricity. "Lucky, pig," Creeper mutters as he passes Sam, his face cruel with dark features. Pure hatred.

The phone rings after a couple moments of quiet. Sam's not sure what they plan on doing to him next or if he'll even be able to last that long as he feels a fever creeping up. "Let's see what the verdict is…" Honcho flips and greets the person on the other line in Russian dialect.

Honcho closes the phone looking pleased. "You must be worth more than you thought," that statement alone confuses Sam, but watches as Honcho proceeds to make another call.

"Sergeant Parker, so glad you complied. My informant has updated me on the release of Kamal. I knew you could do it. Now let's meet for the exchange…"

* * *

><p>Sweat gathered on Greg's brow. His whole team worked over and stressed. Everything set for plan and ready for the bastard's call. Just another three minutes.<p>

They all sat in a new vehicle, a black transport van, with all their equipment set up. Greg and his team had taken more than a couple risks for this plan, but Greg had a good feeling about this. They would get Sam back. They would put him back together and support him after all this. They would have Sam on their team.

Waiting could kill a person. It can drive a person nuts when all they can think about is what's to come and replaying it over and over again. The wait is what builds a person up and prepares them for all the things to expect.

Greg's hand clamps over the phone. One more minute to go and all eyes are locked on him. He gives everyone a strong nod signaling them to be ready, but he already knows that they all are.

Their heart beats count down the very last seconds. Greg anxiously wonders as these last seconds tick by if he's absolutely, positively sure he's ready for everything. Did he check and double check everything properly? Then the phone rings. He holds his breath, but immediately answers placing the call on speaker.

"We've got what you wanted. Now let's trade." Greg sounded calmer than he felt, the perks of being a trained negotiator.

"_Meet at address I'll send you in an email shortly. We'll meet promptly at 6 o' clock, any later and I'll think you're up to no good. Bring Kamal to me, alone and I mean alone. If all goes smoothly, you'll have your team member back."_

"Understood, but let me talk to my guy. After everything he's been through I want to make sure he's okay," Greg knew he wouldn't be okay, even if Sam told him he was, but the team just needed the reassurance.

After a brief pause and a shuffling movement, Sam spoke, "_Sarg…_" Sam sounded breathy as he spoke.

"Hey buddy, just want to let you know we're coming to get ya, alright? So just hold tight. Got that, Sam?" Greg tried to get another response, but he could already tell the phone yanked away.

"_6 o'clock, Parker."_ And with that the call ended.

Eddie sat in the driver's seat with his head swiveled around to look at his team in the back. Spike's computer made a brief _bing _and an email popped up.

"Got the address, setting it up on the GPS to get you the map Ed," Spike's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Now sending to Team Two."

"It's show time," Eddie revved up the engine to the van and they made their way to the location. Just another hour and they'd have Sam back.

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><p><strong>AN: **It's short, I know, but I'm already writting the next piece and plan to update tonight or tomorrow! I haven't gotten back to all the reviews, but I read every single one! So R&R!


	9. Deliverance

**Author's Note: **I'm so glad to say I have another updated chapter. So hopefully this will make it up to all of those who were patient with my story! I've picked up the plot again and so I'm really pleased with how it will turn out and how well it's flowing now. More to come - so stick around. Cheers!

Slightly tweaked the chapter to fix any discrepancies. (Guess I rushed a couple parts in the chapter)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: Deliverance<strong>

Honcho snaps the phone shut with satisfaction. He gives a gesture to his Russian partner, who then types away on the computer before nodding.

"Alright, looks like we've got to go." He smiles at Sam, flashing his not-so-white teeth, "Get him down and load him in the van."

Creeper honestly looks like he's about to ignore the order with his face twisted in defiance, until Honcho stops to shoot back a glare just as intimidating. He pulls over a chair behind Sam, kicking the Electric Box of Torture away. Sam can hear Creeper muttering, almost ranting, to himself. That only tips the scale even more from Creeper to Creepier. Guy obviously has a lot of crazy in his nut.

Standing on the chair, Creeper unravels the chains around Sam's throbbing wrists. Then it occurs to Sam that he's being untied while still hoisted in the air and he's going to fall to the ground any second. Now, that wouldn't feel like such a task if his feet didn't feel so invisibly numb.

Then, just as he predicts, when Sam's wrists are freed he drops like a weight to the rocking surface, crumbling to his knees and just catching himself before he face plants. Pain wracks his sore body with such intensity he wants to scream, but he bites his tongue just before. When he regains some composure he's still panting and trying to keep the nausea that constricts his throat down.

Creeper looks down at the suffering body for a moment to long, because Honcho storms back in, "Are you deaf, get him in the van!" Honcho leaves through the door once again muttering harsh Russian tongue, that doesn't sound all that nice. Creeper grabs a hold of Sam's hair and drags him towards the door.

Sam struggles, stumbling along and unable to get up to his feet. Creeper releases Sam's hair with a shove. The second goon is at Sam's side telling Creeper to hold him from Sam's right side. At least this guy didn't plan on dragging Sam up the stairs to the deck by his hair.

They pick Sam up, each one wrapping an arm around his midsection and carrying him up to the deck. Sam is blinded by the sun that's just beginning to set, but it's still a lot more rays than he got down below. The air is cooler with a nice sea breeze that Sam takes a moment to enjoy before reentering the van.

Honcho is the one driving with Creeper in the passenger seat and the other Russian in the back with Sam.

_'At least he's up there,_' Sam thanks the seating arrangement. He senses that Honcho doesn't really trust Creeper back here with the merchandise.

Sam sags against the van's wall, closing his eyes as the vehicle starts to move. He finds it hard to believe Greg pulled the strings to exchange a prisoner for him. They must be up to something, so Sam definitely has to be prepared, if that's at all possible in his state. If only he could stop the sensation of spinning and the intense flame inside his chest.

"Drink," the heavily accent man holds a bottle of water in front of Sam. Sam swallows dryly and shakes his head.

"Drink," he says again a little more assertive this time. Sam sighs, and accepts the water being held to his cracked lips. The water feels so good against his throat and savors the liquid on his tongue. "Drink more," and again he drinks the sweet heavenly juice until all is gone.

The water still doesn't shake the nauseous feeling that lingers, but he holds it down. He wonders how long it will be until they arrive. Maybe he could take a light nap or something, but he knows he shouldn't, it's just his eye lids feel heavier and heavier by the second. Sam closes his eyes.

_'Damn. The water…_'

* * *

><p>Eddie pulls up to a tall building with multiple broken windows. The whole area around it looks just as derelict with other damp dingy buildings. The location is near the ocean making the place smell thick with ocean air.<p>

Eddie and Greg are the only ones in the van along with their prisoner with a cloth bag concealing his head. They both scout the surroundings from their seats, taking note of every detail. They hauled ass on the way over here and arrived a quarter before 6 o'clock. They were ready to take care of this once and for all. Team One would deliver what these bastards deserved one way or another. They were ready.

* * *

><p>As the road starts to become more bumpy, Sam rouses back awake. Sam doesn't open his eyes, but just listens as the tires tread on gravel-like surface. He's still groggy from whatever they slipped him and has no clue how long he was out for, but the trip seemed to go by smoother that way. The van continues to rattle along the path until slowing to a stop.<p>

They sit there for a moment, until Honcho turns off the ignition, but still no one moves.

"They're here..." is all he says, before continuing in Russian. Sam thinks Creeper must find it infuriating being on the same team, but at the same time, being left out of the team. Sam didn't feel like that on Team One. They were the best team he could've asked for and trusted them without ever second guessing it. Whatever his team had in store, he trusted they would do it as best as they possibly could.

Inside he laughed to himself. How could he have second guessed what they would think about him? The repercussions had already been done, so he wasn't going to hide it any longer. He wouldn't lose his team over this.

The two front doors creak open and the van jostles as Honcho and Creeper exit. The doors slam and feet crunch at the ground. Sam feels inclined to indicate he is now awake, so he sleepily opens his eyes. The sun is almost fully set now, but still lights the sky with a soft orange and blue.

The back doors swing open with Honcho and Creeper standing at the opening.

"Get out." Says the guy who rode in the back with Sam. He pulls Sam up by his 'good' shoulder. Sam winces, but awkwardly complies by helping himself to his knees and shuffling to get out. Once in reach, Creeper roughly latches to Sam's other shoulder and pulls him the rest of the ways out until Sam lands on the ground. The pain reignites the everlasting wave of nausea that persists to erupt, and all he can do is breath heavily to keep it at bay.

'Tsk' Honcho looks disgusted at Creeper, "Pick him up and keep him up." They close the back doors and both men lift Sam to his wobbly feet. It's been such a long time since he stood on his feet that he almost forgot he had a pair. Of course Creeper takes pleasure in holding tightly onto Sam's swollen shoulder as they walk around the van to the front.

Sam looks towards another van parked in the distance. When Greg steps out, relief floods him. It really was his team. Greg moves around the back side of his van and pulls out a masked man in prisoner uniform. Sam can't believe it's actually going down like this. They never negotiated with terrorist it was against all protocol. He doesn't know if he should feel honoured or horrible that this was all for him.

Both parties close the large gap between them until they are at a comfortable trading distance. Greg and Eddie stand beside their prisoner. The air has already intensified. Exchanges are always tricky because you never know if the other side was going to dupe you or not.

"I see you didn't come alone like I asked," Honcho grounded out slightly, but sounds as if he expected it.

"Can't transfer a prisoners alone." Both Greg and Ed wear matching stern looks. Greg grasps Kamal tightly by his arm while the prisoner holds his hands behind his back.

"Remove the cloth," Honcho cautiously demands. Sam can tell he's already suspicious.

"How you doin', Sam? Cause you look you're down with the cold," Greg never left Honcho's stare, but completely ignores what Honcho demands.

Sam is quiet while his mind cranks. Oh. "Yeah, you got that right..." he attempts to make his voice loud enough for Greg to hear, although it makes it barely the volume of how he would normally talk.

"Enough! Remove the cloth," Honcho unveils a gun by his side.

"You heard him! Do it!" Staton bursts out loud shaking Sam by his shoulder. This time it's a lost cause. The jolt of pain stabs right into Sam's stomach and he throws his head forward as he purges his stomach. Only bile and the water sloshes onto the gravel. Both men let go of Sam in disgust as the vomit splatters on the ground. Sam just falters to his knees then crash onto his side.

"Now!" Greg barks at the golden opportunity. The prisoner rips off the black cloth covering his head and trains his weapon on Honcho. Wordy smirks, loving this moment and knowing he put that shock on Honcho's face.

"Put the weapon down! Put it down!" The three officers shout in unison as they point the guns at the men. The perpetrators resist the order, but falter as they see the second SRU team surround them with guns aimed at them. Honcho growls as he slides his gun across the ground and raises his hands in defeat. Both of the Russians raise their hands up in surrender, except Staton who stands there with his face turning beet red angry.

Then like an explosion, he releases a ferel yell as he lunges towards Sam with a large, gleaming dagger. All three SRU members attempt to react fast enough to stop the man, but a shot rang out. And not a moment too soon. Staton drops like a fly to the ground, dead before impact. A pool of blood gathers around his head from the bullet hole in the centre of his head.

Eddie and Wordy shove the two perps up against the van, cuffing and patting them down. Just as two squad cars pull up with their lights silently flashing and the officers take the two into custody. Paramedics arrive next and a crew joins Greg next to Sam who lies unconscious on the ground.

* * *

><p>Jules stares at the scene below. She was crouched next to her sniper rifle on the building roof top. She watches the man, she has shot seconds ago, lie dead, knowing full well her bullet sent him down. This is one kill she feels no remorse for, and that thought was scary, but she couldn't care. All she felt was overwhelming relief. Relief that he would no longer hurt anyone else ever again. She quickly packed up and raced down to the ground below.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** I hope none are disappointed with the exchange! A lot of Greg's plan is going to be revealed in the chapters upcoming. Two updates in one day: Woo!


	10. Torturous Wait

****Author's note**: **Gahh! Please don't send me to purgatory/kidnap and torture me for going AWOL for so damn long. I've been caught up with life and actually the computer I had been writing on died which sadly had all my hardcopies (I'm thankful FF now has some nifty new features), but REGARDLESS… I know I needed to finish. I apologize to every faithful reader who has commented and asked me continue. I hope this will give you some justice…! I know this story could be even further continued, but to be honest I think all that has been written is well off ending here. The ever so great Braddock, will continue to live on.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters.

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><p><strong>Torturous Wait<strong>

White walls. Overbearing smell of antiseptic. The continuous beeping and coughing and sickness infiltrating the senses. Jules ran both hands roughly over her weary face.

Hospitals suck.

She wanted leave and she wanted to stay. Mostly want and needed to stay because she would be damned if she left without Sam. _Sam…._

He had gone dark for over an hour now. No nurse had any idea when he'd be out and no doctor could tell her his condition. The stress over everything today was killing her slowly and painfully. _Damn you, Sam Braddock…_

The team mostly stayed around, but they made left and returned time and time again. Jules hadn't left once. After awhile, the nurses at the station must have pitied Jules because they offered a vacant lounge room with a sofa and coffee machine.

She couldn't sleep. Her mind and body were too tense and scared to let her sleep. The times she dozed off for an hour were the worst because the image just kept repeating: Sam lying in the gravel.

She knows the image wouldn't haunt her so badly if she could only see him again.

She sighs and sinks down into the sofa. Just as she closes her dry tired eyes she feels another presence in the doorway. She reopens her eyes taking in a slightly blurry Spike.

"Heya, Jules." Spike smiles weakly and sits down on the sofa next to her.

"H-" she clears her dry throat. "Hey, Spike" She knows she looks terrible, but she can't imagine a person in her shoes not looking like shit.

"I came with Greg and he's grilling the nurses, doctors, and just about every staff member for information about…Sam,"

Jules humorlessly laughs, "Yeah, why do you think the nurses put me in here…" The two partners share a smile.

"You guys are so much a like…."

Jules looks at Spike incredulously. "Greg and me?"

Spike lets out a soft bark of laughter, "No! I was talking about you and Sam. You should have seen this guy when he was waiting for you. He was an understandable mess…just like you. He couldn't wait to see you…Jules, when you got shot he had that same look on his face and in his eyes."

Jules knows this is the truth. Sam always visited her in the hospital when she was recovering, but she never thought their actions would be so identical. So…similarly caring for each other. _I need to see Sam…_

Just as she thought it, the wish came true. Greg came poking his head through the door then followed with the rest of his body.

"Hey, Jules. Well, I just received some updates…"

Jules eyes sprung to life. _Why did he stop?! Why isn't he finishing?!_

Greg could see the concern and frustration flash on Jules' face. "Sam is…out of surgery now. But Jules…his injuries are very severe."

"You don't think I know that?!" Unintentionally, Jules snaps back at Greg. Her hand jerks to her quivering mouth. The room is deadly silent.

"Can I see him…?"

"Yeah, they've set him up in his own room a couple rooms down the hall." The second that Jules had snapped at him he had already forgiven her. This stress was pushing the team, but even more so Jules.

"Thanks…and I'm sor-"

"It's okay, Jules. There's no need for that. Let's go see Sam, all right? Greg gave Jules the most heart-warming smile she had seen in days.

"Yeah…" She smiles gently back.

When she enters the room, she can truly see the extent of Sam's injuries highlighted in the florescent glow. He is stark white compared to his natural skin tan. Just about everywhere she can see is majorly bruised. Sam's arm is wrapped and slung a certain way to assist his arm's healing process.

Somehow, Jules expected this and she isn't as shocked. She's relieved if anything. Far more horrifying images had been plaguing her for the endless hours she had been waiting. Now, seeing Sam even in this god-awful condition she's happy.

She doesn't know what his recovery will be like, but she knows she's going to be there every step of the way. If Sam needed a temporary crutch she would be there. Sam would be back in action sooner than anyone would think because he's that vibrant.

Jules smiles and pulls a chair next to the bedside of his uninjured arm. Ever so delicately, she slides her fingers into his hand, which is slightly warm. She swears she can feel him squeeze her hand.

"Sam?" she whispers. There is no response other than his heavy breathing. She inhales with a soft smile then lowers her head alongside his arm slightly leaning into his arm.

Without knowing it, Jules is falling asleep to the beautiful sound of Sam's breathing.

* * *

><p><strong><span>One again!:<span>** I just want to appreciate everyone who has read and who has reviewed. It means the world to me. And I'm sorry I couldn't be as supportive as you were all to me. Just thank you, thank you, thank you. Loving you all! (P.S. I hope the chapter's title resonates with all you patient readers!)


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